


Tempered Schisms

by mountain_born



Series: The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [22]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While touring an in-progress Helicarrier, River, Clint, and Coulson see a lot of familiar faces:  a trio of unauthorized time-traveling friends, one of Clint’s least favorite colleagues, and the agent who might have been River’s supervising officer had history gone a different way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempered Schisms

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and kudos once again go out to **like-a-raven** the Beta Supreme! I seriously couldn't do it without you.
> 
>  
> 
> Next up: River Song goes undercover at Stark Industries.

_February 2011_  
 _Location: Classified_

“You know, when Fury told us that we were joining you on a tour of a new SHIELD base today,” Coulson said, “this is not exactly what I was expecting.”

Coulson was standing at a floor-to-ceiling window, taking in the view. SHIELD had a tendency to build imposing bases. Part of that was simply a byproduct of cutting-edge technology and good funding. Part of it was practicality; SHEILD was tasked no less of a job than protecting the world, and base amenities reflected that. Coulson was pretty sure that psychology came into play, too. When you set foot on a SHIELD base, you knew that the place and the people behind it meant business.

This took the cake, though. From where Coulson stood he could see nothing but boundless blue sky and sunlight glinting off the Atlantic Ocean fifteen thousand feet below.

Agent Maria Hill came over to stand beside him. “I thought you might be a little impressed.”

SHIELD’s second-in-command looked distinctly smug. 

“A flying aircraft carrier,” Coulson said.

_“Helicarrier,”_ Hill corrected. “Seaworthy and also fully capable of sustained flight. It can carry a compliment of sixty quinjets and a crew of up to one thousand. Also, the entire underside of the hull is fitted with retro-reflective panels. To anyone looking up from below, we’re completely invisible.”

“How long has this been in the works?” Coulson asked.

Flying aircraft carriers didn’t get developed and constructed overnight The Helicarrier was obviously still a work in progress. When Coulson and the other thirty-odd high level agents on the tour had been taken on the walk-around, they had seen workmen painting, wiring up lights, and fitting wall and floor panels into place. Those were clearly just the final polish on the craft, though. 

“Years,” Hill said. “The goal was to create a mobile unit with the capabilities of a ground base. The buses will still have their uses, of course, but this will put more resources at the disposal of agents in the field. It’s slated for completion and commissioning later this year. In the event of a crisis, we’ll be prepared.”

Coulson turned to look at her. “Are we anticipating a crisis?”

“We’re SHIELD. We’re always anticipating a crisis.” Hill frowned for a moment, touching her ear comm. “I need to head back to the bridge for a while. Have fun looking around. They’re going to be putting out food down in the mess hall soon. Donuts and stuff.”

Hill moved off, leaving Coulson to his view. The world seemed very peaceful from this high up. Clint was always saying as much. If he was troubled about something, or needed to think, or just had time to kill, he’d find a high perch somewhere. River had picked up the habit by association.

Speaking of his agents, Coulson thought, he should see what they were up to. 

At least Coulson could be reasonably certain they weren’t getting into trouble.

*****

“Fury has outdone himself this time,” River said.

Once Hill’s official tour of the Helicarrier had concluded, all of the agents had been turned loose to explore SHIELD’s shiny new toy at their leisure. Clint and River had drifted away from one of the larger groups fairly quickly. 

It wasn’t that they disliked other agents. (Well, all right, there were some that they disliked, jointly and individually.) It was just that even among other agents they _did_ like, Clint and River preferred being on their own to being in a crowd.

SHIELD. It made for strange coworker relationships, River had often thought. Agents could put their lives in each others’ hands while at the same time maintaining distances due to conflicts of trust, security clearance, or just personality. They lived in a world of schisms tempered by a duty to the greater good.

Of course, it looked as if on the Helicarrier, any schisms would be a smidge cramped.

“It’s cool to visit. I’m glad we’re not going to be living here,” Clint said, poking his head into a room designated as _Crew Quarters B-429._ It was little more than a broom closet outfitted with two sets of bunk beds. It was neat, tidy, efficient, and it made River feel quite grateful for their comparably more spacious rooms back at SHIELD Headquarters.

“The officer’s quarters aren’t bad,” River said, peering around him. “That’s where we’ll be if we’re ever passing through.”

She and Clint moved on. They had already seen the medical bay, a series of labs and workrooms, the training facilities, and the communications center. The designers of the Helicarrier had managed to condense the essentials of a fully-equipped base down into a concentrated, mobile unit.

“I just want a crack at landing on this thing. While it’s in flight, I mean,” Clint said. 

“Yes. I almost thought you were going to try to get the jet controls away from Jefferson when we were on approach.”

Clint just made a face at her. “Which way is the dining hall again? I’m getting hungry.”

“This way.” River pointed to a bend in the corridor ahead. The Helicarrier was a product of SHIELD orderliness; she barely had to tap into her unerring sense of direction. “Maybe we’ll find Coulson. Did he say something about us giving Blake and Hand a ride back to HQ?”

“Yeah, I heard Hill mention—oh, sorry,” Clint said as they rounded the corner and almost bumped into two other agents.

Clint’s automatic apology was immediately followed up with, “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Amy Pond replied.

“Amy?” River said. “Rory?”

The Ponds in the flesh, and they were clearly aiming to blend in with the other agents roaming around on the Helicarrier. They were both wearing suits and truly terrible horn-rimmed glasses. Amy had her hair pinned up in a severe bun, and Rory had done something to slick his down. The effect was unsettling and not even a tiny bit subtle: _Spooks R Us._

“River. Clint. Hello,” Rory said with guilty cheerfulness. “So weird, running into you guys here.”

“What the hell are you two doing here?” River asked.

River had gotten used to Amy and Rory popping up anytime, anywhere, but really? Here? The Helicarrier was still highly classified. Hill would go nuclear if she found out that there were unauthorized tourists here, and Coulson might not be far behind.

Even so, River couldn’t help but be happy to see them. 

She’d had conflicting feelings back when it first became apparent that the Doctor was going to be paying regular visits with her blissfully ignorant parents in tow. On one hand, getting close to them was a bit like walking a wire, because until Amy and Rory reached Demon’s Run they couldn’t know who she was. But on the other hand, she’d spent a lifetime thinking and wondering about Amy and Rory, and having the chance to get to know them felt like a gift.

Circumstances had been kind so far. River knew that, even once Amy and Rory found out who she was (whenever that might be) she would never have a normal parent-child relationship with them. But she liked them as people. She had come to count them as friends and she knew Clint did too.

This drop-in was still sticky, though, because if Amy and Rory were here, that could mean only one thing.

“Where is he and what is he up to?” River asked.

If Fury heard about this, heads were going to roll.

“Nothing.” River leveled a look at him and Rory held his hands up and backed off a step. “I swear. This just popped up on the Doctor’s. . .something. Radar, I guess. He thought it would be interesting to have a look, that’s all.”

“He was in the dining hall the last time we saw him,” Amy added. “He said he was peckish.”

“Come on,” Clint said. “We’d better find him before Hill does.”

*****

Coulson recognized the Doctor’s voice as soon as he entered the dining hall and wasted no time in politely, but firmly, collaring the Time Lord and hustling him away from the agents he was engaged in animated conversation with. By the time he got him contained in a corner by the windows, Clint and River had appeared, being trailed by Amy and Rory.

“Really, Doctor?” Coulson asked.

The Doctor had apparently had fun trying to dress for undercover. The conservative dark-grey suit was more or less on the mark. But Coulson didn’t know how to tell him that no self-respecting SHIELD agent wore a bowtie. And the sunglasses he was sporting crossed the line into ridiculous.

“What?” The Doctor beamed and Coulson had a pretty good notion that the man was having some fun at his expense. He pulled his psychic paper out of his pocket and flashed what Coulson could only assume, to an innocent eye, were some impressive fraudulent credentials. “I’m a SHIELD agent now. SHIELD agents are cool.”

“Please tell me you didn’t park the TARDIS on the flight deck,” Coulson said.

“No. Tucked away in one of the cargo bays,” the Doctor said. “I have to say, I wasn’t planning on paying SHIELD a visit today, but I’m very glad I did. This Helicarrier is brilliant. Though I’m not sure why they’re calling it a _Heli_ carrier. I’ve yet to see a propeller of that sort.”

“Good. Then maybe we can keep Hill from finding out you’re here,” Coulson said. “Just stick with us and don’t talk to anyone. Or just let Rory do the talking. He at least looks like a spook.”

“Seriously?” Rory looked inordinately pleased at this. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Coulson was just starting to consider where they could move their time-traveling friends where they wouldn’t attract quite so much attention when a familiar voice piped up behind him.

“Phil Coulson! Long time, no see.”

Coulson strangled a sigh and turned to face the source of the voice. Two men had come up behind them. The older of the two was of middling height and was wearing a jovial grin. The younger man, who was following on his heels, was taller, dark-haired, and solemn-faced.

“Garrett. Agent Ward,” Coulson said. “Good to see you.”

*****

Sometimes Amy wanted to pat Agent Coulson on the head and apologize for complicating his life.

Not that his life probably wasn’t complicated already. He was a spy, for God’s sake. But most spies probably didn’t get to hang out with the Doctor. Or try to explain the Doctor to other spies. Or cover for the Doctor. Amy loved her Raggedy Man dearly, but she’d be the first to admit that he complicated things, whether he meant to or not.

It just sort of happened. 

It was interesting to watch their SHIELD agents react to the arrival of the two new ones, Garrett and Ward. River didn’t seem troubled at all. Amy saw the skin around Coulson’s eyes tighten in a way that on any normal person would have been a full-on wince. Clint just bristled. Seriously, if the guy were a cat all of his hair would be standing on end.

Amy wasn’t sure what to make of that. True, Agent Garrett’s smile had a bit of an oily quality to it and he was eyeing her, Rory, and the Doctor up with open curiosity. Agent Ward had the inscrutable thing going on. He either looked incredibly humorless or like he should be modeling men’s underwear in a tasteful black-and-white ad, Amy couldn’t decide which. Still, neither of those things seemed to explain why their normally good-natured Hawkeye was suddenly having a hard time keeping his hackles under control.

There must be a story there.

“Phil. Song. Barton.” Agent Garrett nodded to each of them in turn, then extended his hand to the Doctor. “Agent John Garrett. This is one of my specialists, Agent Grant Ward. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Nope. I don’t imagine we have,” the Doctor said, shaking Garrett’s hand. “I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor. . .?” Ward asked.

“Classified,” Coulson said.

“Yes. Classified. Doctor Classified. Stupid name, but what can you do?” The Doctor shrugged. “These are my associates, also classified. Code names Ginger and The Nose.”

Amy saw Rory shoot an epically dirty look at the Doctor and couldn’t quite hold back a smile.

“Well,” Garrett said, as he and Ward shook hands all around, “we have a brand new classified base. Classified guests. It’s quite a day for secrets, isn’t it?”

“That’s more or less the nature of the beast,” Coulson said. “We are SHIELD, after all.”

“That we are,” Garrett said.

The agents passed some polite chit-chat back and forth for a couple of minutes before someone called to Garrett from the other side of the room. He moved off, Agent Ward going with him. 

Once they were out of earshot, Amy poked Clint. Possibly not the best idea, poking an assassin, but what was life without a bit of risk?

“Wow, that was some first-class contained hostility,” Amy said.

Clint glared at her for half a second, then smiled ruefully and shuffled a step away from her.

“They’re just not my favorite people,” Clint said.

“Why’s that?” Rory asked.

“Every workplace has people who just rub each other the wrong way,” Coulson said when it looked like Clint wasn’t going to reply. “SHIELD’s no exception.”

“It’s funny to think about, isn’t it?” River said, nodding across the room at Garrett and Ward. “If things had gone another way?”

“What things?” the Doctor asked.

“Back when River was still in training, Garrett expressed an interest in being her supervising officer,” Coulson said.

“You’re kidding,” Amy said. “I just figured you three always went together. Like a set.”

“For the most part we have,” River said. “But it took us a bit to get here.”

*****

_February 2006_  
 _SHIELD Headquarters, New York_

Occasionally Clint envied people who had learned their social graces somewhere other than on a carnival back lot. Take Coulson, for instance. Coulson had that politically-polite thing down cold. Clint, on the other hand, had never been very good at pretending to be gracious to people he didn’t like.

He really didn’t like Grant Ward.

Coulson had once quasi-gently suggested that Clint’s dislike of Ward was rooted in sheer spite. Not spite at Ward himself, but at all of the people at SHIELD who had tried to push them into being best pals because they had so much in common. Ward had been recruited a year after Clint, and like Clint he had come in through unorthodox channels. He and Clint were about the same age, meaning that they were a handful of years younger than most of their peers. They were both hotshots with formidable skills and they both had criminal records. 

Clint hadn’t appreciated the comparisons. He wasn’t going to claim that his record was spotless or that his life was one-hundred percent morally upright, but he’d never set fire to a house with someone inside of it, thanks. Sure, people deserved second chances. Sure, Ward had quickly become a solid and respected agent. Sure, the man had always been friendly to Clint in his own dour, work-focused fashion, but Clint had never been able to bring himself to reciprocate. 

There was just something _off_ about the guy.

Clint was halfway through his early-morning run on the indoor track in the training center when he heard someone coming up behind him. Not exactly what you’d call ominous; it was a _track._ But Clint felt a warning prickle on the back of his neck. A second later, Ward fell into step beside him. 

“Barton,” Ward said. “It’s been a while.”

_Not long enough._ It had been a good eight months since Ward and his handler, John Garrett, had passed through SHIELD headquarters. Maybe even nine months. Clint hadn’t seen either one of them since well before the Sofia mission, anyway.

Clint just made a noncommittal noise in response. 

“I’ve been hearing some interesting stories,” Ward continued. When Clint failed to respond he continued. “So, you brought the Reaper in alive. That took some serious balls.”

“Not really,” Clint said.

Okay, so that was a lie and Clint knew it. Bringing the River Song in alive had been a big damn deal for two reasons. In the first place, by all rights, it should have landed him in a shit-load of disciplinary trouble. The order from the World Security Council had been _kill_ not _capture._ In the second place, handling a live Reaper had been considered on par with handling a cross between a rabid tiger and a pit viper. The girl was deadly.

“Garrett says that you’ve got a good eye,” Ward said as they rounded the curve in the track. “He says she looks like a really great operations prospect.”

That brought Clint up short, literally and metaphorically. He skidded to a halt.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

Ward pulled up as well, turning and backtracking a few steps. Clint was tempted to tell him to wipe the confused look off of his face.

“He asked Coulson for a look at her file,” Ward said. “I didn’t see it, but Garrett said it was very impressive.”

“Uh huh.” Coulson had the right to show Song’s file to anyone he chose, of course. Clint couldn’t help feeling a little prickle of anger though, not only that Coulson had shared it with Garrett, but that Clint was now hearing about it second hand from Ward. “Look, I have a run to finish.”

“Sure.” Ward stepped aside, clearing the track. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Clint nodded and set off again at a pace that would keep him ahead of Ward. He tried to tell himself that there was no reason to feel uneasy.

Sometimes having good instincts was a bitch.

*****

He spotted Garrett later that afternoon when he and Song were sparring in the gym. The senior agent was watching the show from the observation platform.

When Clint just barely ducked under a kick to his temple, Song laid off the offensive. She rested her hands on her hips and treated him to a look of utter disgust.

“Are you planning to get your head in the game at any point today?” she asked.

“It’s in,” Clint replied, well aware that he sounded annoyed. 

John Garrett being within fifty feet of him tended to have that effect. Clint might not be able to put his finger on why Ward bugged him, but he knew exactly why he didn’t like Garrett. The man was as irritating as fuck-all. He was like the aging frat boy of SHIELD agents: too loud, too jovial, too fond of spinning yarns about his exploits. 

And he was here watching Song. There was no other reason for Garrett to be scoping out their training area. First her file and now this. 

Song followed his glance up to the platform. “Who’s that?” she asked.

“No one.” Clint stretched out his arms and resumed fighting stance. “Go again?”

He’d worry about Garrett’s interest in Song later.

*****

After five months at SHIELD, Song was still a loner. In the beginning, people had avoided her out of dislike and distrust. Clint had been keeping a close eye on the animosity level ever since he’d brought Song in. He’d been happy to note that the fear and hostility had died down a little over the last couple of months.

He’d really thought she had turned a corner at the SHIELD Christmas party. Song could switch on the charm when she wanted to, and word was that she’d gotten _very_ friendly with that geeky little Scottish engineering trainee. River Song, Belle of the Ball had been a one-night thing, though. She’d gone right back to keeping to herself. Song was still clearly an outsider and she seemed content to keep it that way. 

So Clint was a little surprised to see her eating breakfast with Grant Ward. Not just sitting at the same table, but engaged and talking, though Clint was too far away to hear what they were talking about.

Clint thought about going over and joining them for half a second, but decided to take a table on the upper balcony instead. If it meant that he had a good, unobserved view of Song and Ward, that was pure coincidence. He kept an eye on them through breakfast.

And lunch.

Song called him on it that afternoon. She was apparently getting wise to when he was watching her, Clint thought with a little consternation (and a small bit of pride). He didn’t think she was pissed off about it. Clint based this on the fact that she brought it up after sparring practice rather than during.

“If you’re going to be a nosy parker, you might as well just sit at the table,” she said. “The view is much better, and you’ll be able to hear everything.”

Busted.

Clint had an upside down view of Song. She was sitting on the bench alongside the training area, stretching out her arms. Clint had opted for just flopping in the floor for a few minutes to rest. Sparring with Song took it out of him.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Clint said. When Song raised a cool eyebrow at him, he added, “And I was curious. You barely say a word to anyone who isn’t me or Phil. I wasn’t expecting to see you chatting with Ward. He’s not exactly a people person.”

“Ward’s okay,” Song said with a slight shrug. “He’s. . .restful.”

“Restful?” Clint asked. That was an interesting choice of adjective. “Restful how?”

Song was silent long enough that Clint thought he wasn’t going to get an answer. When she did finally speak up her voice sounded suspiciously tight.

“He’s the first person I’ve talked to here who doesn’t think that there’s something wrong with me,” she said.

That was a little unexpected. Both the observation and the fact that Song actually sounded like she cared about it.

“Hey.” Clint sat up, scooting around so that he was facing her. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

Song met his eyes, the corner of her mouth turned up with half-hearted cynicism. 

“Of course you do,” she said. Clint wasn’t sure, but he thought her smile became a fraction less cynical. “But it’s nice of you to claim otherwise.”

Clint dropped the subject, lest he cross over into _protest too much_ territory. He’d pick it up later. That was the thing about Song. The girl was a constant work in progress.

_Better work fast. She only has a month of probation left._

Shit, where had the time gone?

If everything went to plan, Song was going to be an agent in her own right in just a few weeks. She would be assigned to her own missions under the command of a supervising officer and fuck, suddenly Clint had a sneaking suspicion as to why Garrett and Ward had been hanging around on the fringes of things this week.

It was time to go have a talk with Coulson.

*****

“Clint, you’re overreacting,” Coulson said.

Clint halted in the middle of the agitated path he was pacing back and forth in front of Coulson’s desk. 

_“Overreacting?_ What am I? Fourteen? I’m not overreacting, I’m telling you why this is a shitty idea.”

Coulson was sitting with his hands folded calmly on his desk, but Clint could see the tell-tale signs of concern on his face.

“You had to know that this was coming,” Coulson said. He held up a hand to cut Clint off when he opened his mouth. “Song is coming along well with her training. Unless something really goes off the rails, she’ll be eligible to active duty soon. She’s going to need a supervising officer.”

“So, you’re just going to hand her off to Garrett?”

“You know that’s not how it works.” Coulson sighed, pushing back from his desk a bit. “Given that it’s Song, Fury is going to make the ultimate decision about who she’ll be placed with. And yes, Garrett is applying to be her S.O. Honestly, I think he might be a good option.”

“You can?”

“He’s good with the hard cases. Look at what he’s done with Ward.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

One of the things Garrett was known for was his somewhat creative approach to dealing with his agents. Hell, there was some story that, between the time Garrett had sprung Ward from prison and the time he brought him to SHIELD, he’d dumped the boy in the middle of the woods and left him for months. Clint didn’t know for certain if that was true, but he wouldn’t put it past the man. And yet Ward followed Garrett around like a loyal dog, and Ward wasn’t the only one. Garrett had a habit of somehow turning the agents under his command into. . .well, “groupies” was the best word Clint could think of to describe it.

He didn’t want to see Song in the middle of that.

Sure, on paper Song could more than take care of herself. Her record spoke for itself; she had a kill list longer than his arm. But that was kind of Clint’s point. She was _eighteen_ and she had a _kill list._ God alone knew what kind of conditions she had grown up in, because Song flat out refused to talk about it. Clint could hazard some guesses, though. 

Bottom line was, Song was a screwed-up kid in a lot of ways. Hell, just last month Clint had spent a very awkward week convincing her that she didn’t need to sleep with him to pay him back for not killing her in Sofia. (He’d had to get pretty blunt and leave the country for a few days, but he’d eventually gotten through to her.) There hadn’t been a repeat since, thank God, and Clint liked to think that maybe a little bit of damage to Song’s psyche had been repaired.

Would Garrett care about repairing damage? Or would he be more concerned about using it to SHIELD’s ends?

“You should apply to be Song’s S.O.,” Clint said.

Coulson looked mildly pained. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Clint,” he said.

“Why not?” Clint asked. “I’m the only agent you run full-time. You can take on another one.” 

That tell-tale look of pain grew into a wince. “I don’t know that I’m the right person to run Song,” Coulson said.

“Why not? She likes you.” At Coulson’s raised eyebrow Clint amended, “Well, she respects you.” Nope, still the look of incredulity. “Okay, she’s not overtly hostile to you. Come on, Phil, you’re the best person to be her supervising officer. Look, if you place her with Garrett, yeah, she may become an incredible agent. With you she has a shot at being a good person. What do you think is more important?”

Coulson opened his mouth to reply, then just closed his eyes, sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

*****

Coulson ultimately did submit an application to be Song’s supervising officer (Clint learned through diligent pestering). So did Agent Tanaka, Agent Meyer, and Agent Graves from the London office. Garrett was still unofficially considered a frontrunner, and Coulson went so far as to arrange a sit-down meeting with Song and Garrett so that they could feel each other out.

“You’re welcome to come and sit in if you want,” Coulson told Clint, “but it’s happening. It’s only fair to her that she gets to meet potential supervising officers other than me.”

Clint kept his mouth shut and went along to the meeting. He went in with some vague ideas of how he might do damage control later in case it looked like Song was buying into Garrett’s bullshit, but fortunately he didn’t have to use them.

The meeting was a _disaster._

Garrett did most of the talking, most of it about his and Coulson’s early field days. Pretty typical Garrett. Coulson mostly nodded and smiled, interjecting a comment at appropriate intervals. Song just sat at the table in silence, frowning like she wasn’t sure why she was even present.

When Garrett wound down his third tale of operations past, he finally addressed her.

“Well, Song,” he said with a wide grin, “don’t you ever talk?”

Clint saw Song’s eyes narrow.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” she asked.

_YES!_ Clint contained himself, but just barely.

“Song!” Coulson said.

That wiped the smile off of Garrett’s face for a second, but it made a quick resurgence. He held up a hand to Coulson.

“No, Phil, that’s okay. This one must be like Barton. Not a talker. But that’s all right, Song.” Garrett actually winked at her. “Silence is golden, right?”

The meeting fizzled pretty quickly after that, though. It was a very quiet walk back to the residence halls. Clint refrained from saying _I told you so_ to Coulson, mostly because he didn’t want Song to know that he and Coulson had been discussing this behind her back.

Song was actually the one who broke the silence.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friend,” she said.

Coulson looked around at her with a bit of surprise, and Clint saw the hint of a smile tug up a corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t embarrass me,” Coulson said. He hesitated for a moment before giving Song a pat on the shoulder. She actually smiled at the gesture. It was quick and it was fleeting, but damn. It was there.

Clint didn’t believe in luck, but he crossed his fingers anyway.

*****

Fury’s decision came down a few weeks later. Song was to be placed on active duty with Coulson as her supervising officer.

Clint was to be her partner.

That part was unexpected. Clint’s whole career at SHIELD had been as a solo, distance operative. Being partnered with Song was going to mean a few fundamental changes in his job. Fury’s reasons tracked; Clint and Coulson had already established relationships with Song, and if she decided to turn they’d be capable of handling it.

But the Director seemed to be looking beyond just the immediate practical matters. He said as much when Clint, Coulson, and River gathered in his office for Song to receive her official commission.

“I think the three of you together will be capable of great things.”

And no one argued with the Director.

*****

_February 2011_  
 _Location: Classified_

“And the rest, as they say, is history?” Amy asked.

“Highly classified history, most of it,” River said. “Almost five years’ worth now.”

River had never let on, five years ago, that she’d been relieved when she’d heard Fury’s directive. She’d barely acknowledged it to herself. Even back then, though she’d been loath to admit it, she’d been starting to get attached to Clint and Coulson. 

“So, I guess Director Fury has a bit of a sentimental side?” Rory said. “Who would have thought?”

“Fury has an eye for what will make a good team,” Coulson replied.

“Which is notable, given that he only has the one. Eye, that is,” the Doctor said. “Quality over quantity and all of that.”

“Yeah, you never have told us,” Clint said, “how _did_ Fury lose his eye?”

The Doctor had dropped enough hints that they knew the Time Lord had been at Ground Zero (if not directly involved) when Fury had earned his eye patch. They never had been able to wheedle that story out of the Doctor, but that hadn’t deterred Clint from trying.

“You know,” the Doctor said, as if he hadn’t even heard the question, “I need to take you lot to Avannox. If you think this base is something, they have entire cities there, that float over oceans of flaming gas. And they make the most wonderful astral banana splits--”

River caught Clint’s eye and shook her head with a little smile.

It was just as well that some things stay classified.


End file.
